It is the first day of December. It is the first day of Summer here in the Southern Hemisphere, but it may the first day of Winter where you are.
It is the first day of Reverb13.
How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?
It is the first day of Advent. It is the first day of the year, and it is the first time that I have begun my year here.
This is how things look on the first day:
I am nervous. I have left the safe and familiar and am starting something new. I am tolerably confident that I can make a good job of this, but it is intimidating. At the same time, my mind is singing at an immense compliment that was paid me this morning. I’m also nervous about my solo this evening, or, rather, conscious of the fact that I will be nervous, when I get there.
I am tired. Sleepy. If I were to get into bed, I would fall asleep. My feet, too: I’m aware of having walked, yesterday. I’m pleasantly full, of Spanish cabbage soup, and sour cream and onion flavour Pringles. There is a blister on my left little toe, which is a little bit sore when I wiggle it. I’ve had my hair cut, and the back of my neck feels very exposed. It’s a bit chilly generally, actually, but I will be going out in half an hour. The sun is going down behind the houses opposite, and there is a streak of flame running between two layer of thick purple clouds. But I’m feeling well: at the moment, my body is working pretty well and I’m pleased with it.
My heart is a little apprehensive, too. It takes me (or so I believe) a long time to make friends. I know that I am going to miss my old colleagues. I fear that I will lose touch with them, and also that it will take me as long to get to make friends with the new ones as it did with the old. Both of these fears are unfounded, I think. I am not the same person I was when I joined the organisation; also, half the office seems to be trying to meet up with me for lunch. I am missing my husband, who is nearly a hundred miles away. My heart is trying to love everybody, which is wonderful, but sometimes tiring and sometimes painful.
And in the middle of all of this, my soul is remarkably calm. Ready. Expectant. Aware of progress having happened, and being about to happen, and at the same time accepting itself as is. We had this hymn this morning. The last verse still makes me cry.
Kathleen Jowitt 